The Glories of eBay
by Gixxer Pilot
Summary: Epps buys a novelty chair on eBay. Who could have thought it would bring so much chaos to the NEST base? This story based loosely off Tenshi of Light’s Autobot Pranks. Ch 3: the 'Vette twins discover the figurative meaning of the word 'karma'. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: The Glories of eBay

**Author**: Gixxer Pilot

**Summary**: Epps buys a novelty chair on eBay. Who could have thought it would bring so much chaos to the NEST base? Oneshot based loosely off Tenshi of Light's Autobot Pranks. If you haven't read it and want to laugh, do so. It's epically hilarious.

**Author's Notes**: Since I started chatting with Tenshi over the last week, I've discovered my muse for all things humorous in fiction. While this story is pure crack, it's based on a recent real-life case of a Minnesota man who was arrested in Proctor (a small town about 150 miles northeast of Minneapolis/St. Paul) for a DUI while on his custom made motorized La-Z-Boy recliner. The chair is currently on EBay, being auctioned by the Proctor Police Department. As I type this, the bidding is at $40,000. Yes, that's right. $40,000 with another day left on the auction.

If anyone wants pictures or a link to the eBay listing, go to http:// gixxer - pilot dot livejournal dot com. Obviously, remove all the spaces and use the actual symbol for "dot" instead of the word. Also, there is no "www" in that. In any case, I put some pictures up on my blog.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Transformers, nor do I have the patience or time to put together a motorized La-Z-Boy recliner. I do like the NHRA theme in the chair, though. Does that count?

* * *

"_Hey, Sarah. It's Bobby."_

Sarah Lennox smiled happily, juggling her cell phone in one hand and Annabelle in the other. "Bobby! How are you?"

"_I'm fine. And how's my favorite girl_?" The Master Sergeant laughed when he heard Annabelle's bright two year old gibberish in the background.

"She's good, of course. She's into the terrible twos now, so it's a bit of a challenge keeping her occupied for more than a couple of seconds." Setting her daughter's food on the booster seat table, Sarah finally had both hands free to talk. "What can I do for you? I assume this isn't just a social call."

A pause came from the other end of the line. "_No, it's not. Sarah, I need a favor. A __**big**__ favor_."

Sensing the serious tone of Epps' voice, Sarah walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa. "Yeah, whatever you need, Bobby. Just name it."

Epps let out a big breath. "_Can I use your place for a shipping address for something I just bought?_"

"Use our house? Sure, but why?" Sarah asked, slightly confused. "Can't you just ship it to the base?"

Epps sighed again. "_Well yeah. I normally would, but this something I want to keep on the down low, if you know what I mean._"

Sarah furrowed her brows in confusion and suspicion. She'd known Bobby Epps a long time; he and Will went way back. She also knew what kind of a prankster the Sergeant was. If Epps was trying to conceal the existence of an object or a person, Sarah wasn't sure she wanted any part of it. "I don't know, Bobby. What is it?"

"_I can't tell you, but I think you'd like it. So would Will, now that I think about it_." Epps wasn't above pleading. "_Please, Sarah? Just this one time? You don't even have to open anything. All you have to do is sign for it and have them put it in one of those pole barns I know you guys don't use. Ironhide agreed to help me move it as soon as it arrives._"

Sarah contemplated the request. The action itself didn't seem all that dubious, but this was Epps, and therefore, not a normal human being. But, Sarah rationalized, if Ironhide had agreed to help, how bad could it be? Knowing she'd eventually regret it, she relented. "All right, Epps. Just this once, got it? And if Will gets mad, I will tell him you coerced me."

"_Yes, ma'am_." The smile undoubtedly plastered all over the soldier's face could be heard in his voice. "I'll take all the blame."

"You do that, soldier." Grabbing a pen and a piece of paper from the junk drawer in the kitchen, she rested the phone in the crook of her shoulder. "Now, give me all the necessary information."

* * *

Of all the things Sarah Lennox envisioned Bobby Epps buying, the strange item currently before her was certainly not it. Cocking her head to one side, Sarah still wasn't exactly sure what _it_ actually was. Scratching her head, Sarah looked incredulously toward the NEST Sergeant and asked, "Bobby, where did you get this again?"

Epps smiled widely, exposing his bright white teeth. "I told you, Sarah. eBay."

"And you paid for it?" Sarah queried, raising one blonde eyebrow.

"Well, NEST did actually," Epps replied.

Fixing her husband's long time friend with a glare of disapproval, Sarah continued. "Oookay…What's the point?"

A shrug. "I dunno. Does there have to be a point?"

"Normally no, but when a gigantic motorized La-Z-Boy shows up in my barn, then yes, there damn well better be a point! How much was that thing, anyway?"

Epps scratched his head. "Uh, expensive."

Sarah reciprocated by narrowing her eyes. "_How_ expensive?"

Epps muffled his voice by putting his hand over his mouth. "Forty five thousand dollars."

Sarah nearly had to pick her jaw up off the dirt floor. "Excuse me? Forty-five, _what_? Bobby, are you insane?"

"Sarah, NEST has a really, really big budget, okay? They won't miss the forty-five grand, and the money went to a city, not a private seller. It's a little town, and I'm sure they could use it. Trust me. That money's like a drop of a hat to NEST. And after Egypt, I thought our soldiers could use a reason to laugh."

"I don't know anything about this. I don't want to know where it came from, and I don't want to know how you found it." Throwing her hands up in the air, Sarah turned and started walking off. "Men! I will never understand you. Just get this thing out of my house before my husband gets home and busts you back down to Private!"

* * *

Bobby Epps rubbed his hands together in anticipation, eyeing his new toy parked inconspicuously in one of the smallest of the NEST hangers. Ever since he saw story of the Minnesota man arrested for DUI on a motorized La-Z-Boy, he decided he _had_ to have the infamous chair. When the local police auctioned off the vehicle in question, Epps tapped into his inner nerd and purchased the one of kind item. The Sergeant figured it was an "educational experience" for the Autobots, and thus qualified for the use of NEST funds. Either way, he was thrilled.

The La-Z-Boy recliner itself was actually quite nice. It was oversized, black leather with blue piping flames on the side, and complete with a silver steering wheel, shifter and brake. The National Hot Rod Association logo was emblazoned in the leather on the backrest. To enhance the lawnmower engine used to power the strange vehicle, there was a can of nitrous oxide attached to the back, complete with a parachute similar to the ones used by cars in the NHRA's Pro Stock classification. The chair came complete with front lights, a side mirror, and to top it off, a cup holder for any kind of adult beverage.

Epps hopped into his newly acquired chair and made sure the parking brake was on. He choked the engine and fired the starter. The engine roared to life. Grabbing the shifter on the right side, Bobby released the brake and gave a little throttle to the engine. Grabbing the steering wheel, he ventured experimentally around the hanger.

Twenty minutes later, Epps was happily driving in circles and attempting wheelies when Lennox strolled in.

"What the hell is that, Epps?" Lennox asked, gesturing in Epps' general direction.

"My new recliner. Actually, it's the base's new recliner. Like it?" Epps asked, bringing the chair to a halt in front of his off duty superior officer.

Lennox narrowed his eyes warily, the look on Will's face suspiciously mirroring the one Sarah gave him. Maybe she learned it from him, though Epps would bet a year of his salary it was the other way around. "Is that the chair from that DUI in Minnesota?"

"The one and only."

"And I'm sure you had NEST pay for it, right?" Lennox raised his hands. "Wait. Don't tell me. Plausible deniability. I don't want to know!"

"Good choice, man," Epps laughed.

Lennox pulled his hands off his hips and stepped forward. "Now, let me see this damn thing."

Another twenty minutes passed before Epps and Lennox realized that their new toy lacked some serious horsepower.

"Hey Epps, if the creator of this chair was a huge drag racing fan, he would probably like it if we were to use our power and resources to make it go as fast as some of those cars, right?" Lennox asked with an evil glint is his eye.

"Hey, man. I aint' doing none of that three hundred miles an hour in a quarter mile shit. No way!" Epps responded, his dark eyes wide.

"I'm not talking about going that fast, you idiot! I'm just thinking faster than ten or fifteen would be nice," Lennox corrected his friend.

Epps raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips in agreement. "In that case, where's Mikaela?"

It really wasn't hard for Epps and Lennox to convince Mikaela to put her mechanical knowledge to work on upgrades for the base's famous new recliner. A couple of days and a lot of money later, Epps and Lennox were presented with the recliner to beat all recliners: the NHRA La-Z-Boy that would do zero to sixty in just under six seconds.

"Okay you two. Here's what I did. First and foremost, you'll notice that the engine is set up completely different." Mikaela pointed to the black cage protruding slightly from the bottom rear of the recliner. "I took out the lawnmower engine and replaced it with a 2008 Kawasaki Ninja 250 motorcycle engine and transmission. It's got thirty five horsepower now."

Lennox crinkled his nose. "Thirty five? That's it? You could have put more under the seat, Mikaela."

The dark haired teen rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I could have done more if I wanted you to die. The next step up would have been a Gixxer engine, and that a big ass step. The Gixxer's got over one hundred horsepower."

"So?" Lennox retorted, his bravado increasing. "I like fast. I jump out of planes and ride around with Ironhide, remember?"

Mikaela snorted. "Lennox, the Gixxer is the GSX-R, Suzuki's sport bike. It's a race bike with lights. The smallest displacement engine Suzuki makes in that line, the 600, does zero to sixty in three seconds and will go 150 miles an hour all day long."

Will visibly paled at the thought of racing a recliner. "Oh. Okay. Little Kawi engine it is, then."

"All right. So, because I replaced your engine, I had to make the wheelbase sturdier and rebalance it. I used wheels from a pocket bike and shored everything up with new welds and a stronger frame."

Walking around to the front of the La-Z-Boy, Mikaela continued. "The transmission has been redone, but it still shifts the same way with the lever. I had to add a clutch and throttle assembly, so I fabricated a footrest at the same time. The pedals operate as they would in a manual transmission car." Mikaela pointed to three shiny silver pedals on the base of the newly installed and grip taped footrest. "Basically, you guys have a motorcycle under your recliner," she finished with a satisfied grin.

"Mikaela, have I told you how much you rock?" Epps practically crushed the mechanic in a hug. "This is going to be so much fun!"

"Yeah, I know I do. Do you have any idea how much you two owe me for this? It was nearly impossible keeping this a secret from Optimus and Ratchet!" she whined.

Epps and Lennox both hugged Mikaela. "Don't worry. We'll take care of it. You know we'll figure out something for you."

Mikaela muttered, "Just be glad my dad works at that bike shop. Otherwise, I don't know where I would have done this."

Epps launched himself into the recliner, beginning to familiarize himself with the new set of controls. As Epps attempted a burnout, Lennox called, "Don't forget Galloway's meeting us today for a briefing on our budget for next year in a half hour!"

"Yeah, yeah. I got it!" Epps waved his hand in acknowledgement as he sped off toward the human side of NEST headquarters. Epps had no real interest in the President's asshole of a liaison, but tolerated him because he had no choice. Taking the long way, Epps got to his quarters in time to change into a set of BDUs and make his way on foot back toward the operations hanger.

Three hours and several urges to strangle the life out of the prick from Washington later, Epps, Lennox, Ironhide and Optimus emerged from the meeting ready to shoot the first being who said the word 'budget'. As the four split to go about their respective duties, a young Private approached the human military commanders and timidly asked for a word. All four senior advisors stopped to listen.

"M-Major? Permission to speak, sir?"

Lennox took pity on the young man. He looked to be no older than twenty. If Will's memory served, Private Mellman was only eighteen and fresh out of boot. "Go ahead, Private."

"Sir, some of the men were a little restless, seeing as there hasn't been any Decepticon activity since Egypt, and we really don't like that Galloway guy and some of the guys were wandering around the base and they saw that new recliner--"

Lennox internally rolled his eyes at Mellman's run on sentence. "Spit it out, Private."

Mellman blanced. "Y-Yes, sir. Well, someone took the motorized chair and crashed it into Mr. Galloway's personal car, sir."

It was only fifteen years as an Army officer that kept Lennox's jaw from detaching from his skull. "He-- What? Say that again, Private. _Who_ crashed the recliner into Director Galloway's car?"

"Palladora, sir. He got a mean burnout going, but he dumped the clutch and went straight into the side of the car," Mellman timidly answered. "Jackson took him to sickbay."

Lennox couldn't stop the quiet groan from escaping his mouth. Sickbay meant medics, and medics meant Ratchet. Pushing that thought aside to deal with it later, Lennox asked, "Was Cpl. Palladora seriously injured?"

Mellman shook his head to the negative. "No, sir. Just a couple of bumps and sprains. He flew over the car and landed on the other side."

Will hated to ask the next question. "What kind of damage was done to Director Galloway's vehicle?"

Mellman began to stutter again, his answer saved by a very irate National Security Advisor storming toward the group of leaders.

"Lennox! I swear this is the last straw! The _last_ one! One of your people, and I use that term loosely, crashed a motorized La-Z-Boy into my car. I now have a dent the size of Ray Lewis in the passenger side of my personal vehicle!" Galloway hollered, his tie flapping in his face and vein bulging in his forehead.

"Director Galloway, I apologize for my soldiers' conduct. They will be found and dealt with accordingly," Lennox placated, no sense of urgency behind his words.

Galloway nodded viciously as he invaded Will's personal space. "See that they do. And you'll be getting a bill from the highest bidder I can find."

As Galloway turned his back, Will sneered in disgust. "God, I hate him."

Optimus and Ironhide had remained silent through the entire debacle. "What is this recliner, Private Mellman?"

"Uh, it's something that the base recently acquired, sir. I'm not sure from where."

Optimus nodded. "Well, perhaps for the time being, it may be wise to confiscate whatever it is that's causing this problem. Major?"

"I agree. I'll move the chair myself. We can put it in the storage facility in medbay with Ratchet. No one will get to it there," Lennox said, putting an end to the conversation.

"Goddammit, there goes our fun." Epps sulked all the way back to his quarters.

* * *

Wheeljack flicked on the lights to medbay, his optics taking a split second to adjust to the change. Moving through the room, he caught his toe on the corner of something that wasn't there when he'd left the day previous. Bending down to inspect the new item, the inventor was instantly curious. A human recliner, his search told him, but with a few modifications. Stroking his chin, Wheeljack began to think. Prime had often told him that his experiments would be more appreciated if they were less explosive. Quickly doing some calculations in his head, the mech devised a way to replicate the human chair for Autobot use.

Two days and a few different tries later, Wheeljack had his luxury chair. It had every single specification the human chair had – power to weight ratio, steering capabilities, top speed, but it would accommodate a mech of even Optimus Prime's considerable bulk. Wheeljack had worked a couple of extra upgrades from the original human design, one a remote control capability and another, full restraints for the user. He had mounted a small camera in the upper portion of the chair and rigged up a simple transmitter to make the remote work. Looking proudly at his invention, complete with a replica NHRA logo, Wheeljack secured his lab for the night and headed off to recharge.

"There he goes!" Sunstreaker nudged his brother as the Corvette twins watched Wheeljack close up his shop for the night.

"Do you think he's done with it?" Sideswipe asked.

"I'm sure he is. I heard him talking to himself today, and he should be finished by tonight."

An expression of humor mixed with a little bit of sarcastic fear briefly crossed Sides' face. "Talking to himself?"

Sunstreaker shrugged. "It's Wheejack. What do you expect?"

"Good point. Now, let's find out if he finished, shall we?" The evil grin on Sides' faceplates matched the expression of his twin.

"Let's."

Creeping silently through Ratchet's darkened medbay, the two Autobot twins were ecstatic to find that the inventor had not changed his passcode, and that the chair of Sunny and Sides' desire was indeed finished.

"Sunny, where's the transmitter and remote?" Sides whispered.

"Right here." Sunstreaker plucked a small remote, complete with a viewscreen, off Wheeljacks's bench and shoved it into a compartment in his thigh. "Let's move before we get caught."

"Everyone should be coming out of that senior staff meeting. We should have just enough time to get this chair into the rec room before tonight's party," Sides said as he pushed the chair down the long hallway towards the Autobot recreation area.

"And then, we just gotta get Ironbutt to sit in it," Sunny finished.

"He's going to shoot us, you know," Sides informed his brother.

"Yeah, but it'll be worth it. I'm willing to ruin my paint job to remind old Ironhide of the gravitron!" Sunny answered. The two Corvettes dissolved into a fit of giggles, thinking back to the infamous Autobot fair. More specifically, they were thinking of the spinning gravitron, which Ironhide had so boldly predicted would be a piece of cake for the weapons specialist to handle. However, after five minutes of fighting an urge to purge all over himself, Ironhide rethought that theory as he stumbled off the ride and offlined on first chunk of solid ground his feet touched.

As the twins entered the rec room and set up their new recliner, the voices of Optimus Prime, Ratchet and Ironhide floating down the hallway. The three senior bots entered and immediately beelined for the high grade dispense. Sunny and Sides exchanged a pleased glance.

"You three look like you've had a day from the pit itself," Sunny said sweetly as he grabbed some low grade for himself.

Optimus sank down gratefully on the custom made Prime sized couch and let his feet dangle over the edge. "You could say that. What is that human expression? T.G.I.F.?"

Ratchet snorted a note of agreement. "I wish you'd rethink that policy of yours, Optimus."

Prime raised an optic ridge. "Which?"

"The harming humans policy," Ironhide gruffly amended from across the room.

"Well, Wheeljack just finished up his latest work. It's a replica of a human thing called a La-Z-Boy. It's supposed to be the epitome of comfort. Why don't you give it a try, Ironhide?" Sides added. "You look like you could use it."

If Optimus hadn't been so exhausted after four days of government meetings while dealing with a rather nasty virus running through his systems, he most certainly would have caught the sickly sweet nature of his normally devious set of twins. He also would have warned Ironhide that whatever was about to happen was probably not going to be fun for anyone but Sunstreaker or Sideswipe.

Ironhide eyed the recliner with trepidation. It did look mighty comfortable, and it didn't look like it would bite him or explode at any moment. Making his choice, the weapons specialist ambled over to the recliner and sat down. "Hmm. Nice. No explosions, nothing failing. A mech could get used to this."

The Corvette twins excused themselves quietly for the night and went back to their shared quarters. From the camera on the chair, Sunny and Sides could see what they needed to see. Fortunately for them, Wheeljack also had the foresight to install microphones.

Optimus' deep baritone rumbled through the feed. "Well, it looks rather harmless, though with Wheeljack, anything's possible."

Ratchet's chuckle came from somewhere to Ironhide's right. "It's more than possible, though this time I dare say we might be okay."

'_Famous last words,' _Sides thought deviously as he nodded to his twin. In that instant, Sunny pressed a button on the remote. In an instant, a four-point safety harness buckled itself around Ironhide and tightened up.

Ironhide looked around, confused. Prime sat up from his slouched position and Ratchet jumped to his feet. "Hey, what the frag is this?" Ironhide tugged hard on the straps, finding they wouldn't budge. "What is going on here? The chair's slagging possessed!"

All of a sudden, the recliner's backrest dropped to the furthest reclined position and bolted, seemingly by itself, toward the door. "Whoooooaaaaa! What's going oooon?" Ironhide shouted, a mass of black flying past a shocked Optimus and Ratchet. Both mechs jumped to their feet and followed the wayward chair as it sped down the hallway of the Autobot quarters.

Cybertronians and humans alike were sent diving for cover as the motorized Autobot sized La-Z-Boy came thundering down the corridor. Optics and eyes could only stare at the sight of a large and angry mech strapped to the chair against his will, flying down the hallways. Jaws dropped, fingers pointed, mouths gaped and pictures were snapped.

Figuring Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were behind the prank once again, Ironhide alternated between yelling in fear and yelling at the twins. "You little fraaaaggeerrrss! When I get my ha--" Ironhide abruptly cut off his rant as the chair took a corner at neck snapping speed, an un mechly squeak emanating from his vocalizer.

In their quarters, Sunny and Sides were both doubled over in laughter, having to remind themselves to pay attention so Ironhide wouldn't be hurt. "Speed it up, Sunny!" Sunstreaker turned the throttle dial up to high as he saw the opening to the hanger and tarmac on the viewscreen.

Epps and Lennox walked toward the Autobot hanger, talking quietly amongst themselves. "They'd better have a good movie on tonight. I'm getting sick of--" Epps moaned as Lennox repeatedly whacked him on the bicep. "What, dude?"

Pointing, Lennox said nothing. Epps' eyes followed the imaginary line Will's finger was making, and as soon as his brain registered what his eyes were seeing, Epps' jaw dropped to the tarmac. Flying toward them at easily over ninety miles an hour was Ironhide on what could only be described as the Autobot version of Epps' lawnmower recliner.

As Ironhide blew past them and started spinning doughnuts on the tarmac, the only thing that could be heard from the Topkick was, "Soommmeeeoonnneee'ss deeaaddd wheeenn I sttooooppp thiiisss!"

Epps doubled over in laughter as the chair stopped, only to start jumping around as the controllers executed a circular burnout. Locking optic to eye with Epps, Ironhide growled. "You ungraaaateful fraggeeeeer! See if I eeeeever help you agaaaaaain!" Ironhide screamed from across the tarmac.

A herd of Autobots and human soldiers came pouring out of the hangers, all in various stages of disbelief or laughter. Some were being held up by others, while a few bots and humans had given up and were laying on the ground in hysterical tears.

The clutch disengaged, and the recliner snapped forward again at full speed across the runway. Hearing the downshift of the engine, Lennox cringed as the recliner executed a wheelie, the laid back position the chair nearly scraping Ironhide's helm on the ground. Slamming on the brakes, the wheelie turned into a stoppie, throwing the Topkick violently forward in his restraints. Ironhide gave up completely on English cursing and switched to the meanest, most profane Cybertronian oaths he could think of.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had wandered out toward the tarmac to see first hand the havoc they were wreaking on Ironhide. As they began to spin big doughnuts with their direct commander once again, Wheeljack's curse kicked in. The transmitter and remote sparked in Sunny's hands and landed on the cement as nothing but a blackened piece of unusable plastic.

Sunny and Sides looked at each other, panic written all over their faceplates. "Oh, slag. What now?"

"Um, hide, I think," Sideswipe said, both bots high tailing it back to their quarters.

The rest of the group was unaware anything was amiss. Optimus pushed his way through the crowd to see Ironhide clinging to the armrests of the chair for dear life, his optics wide and bright in fear. Prime could sympathize, as it looked like Ironhide was once again revisiting the gravitron from the Autobot fair. Assuming someone was controlling the slightly demonic chair, Optimus stepped forward.

It was only when Ironhide and the recliner was just feet from crashing into him did Optimus realize that no one actually had control. As the front of the motorized La-Z-Boy slammed full force into his knees, Optimus grunted as Ironhide was launched into his chest plates. Landing in an ungraceful heap of limbs, Prime engaged his battle mask to cover the laughter that was threatening to bubble to the surface when he analyzed the wild, frightened look in Ironhide's normally intense optics.

Ironhide shook his head to clear some of the cobwebs that had accumulated there during his ride. He pushed off Prime's chest and willed himself to his feet, steadied by Ratchet. Shoving the medic's hand away, Ironhide staggered into the Autobot quarters and down towards Sunny and Sides' room. Practically throwing the door off its hinges, Ironhide snarled and let his cannon gyros spin. The twins backed up on to their respective berths in fear. There was no need to lie.

"You are both dead. I will put you on sanitation duty for the rest of your existence, unless you do one thing." Ironhide locked optics with both Sunny and Sides.

The Corvette twins shook their heads fast enough Ironhide thought their neck servos might snap or short out. Sunny was the one able to find his voice. "Anything. We didn't know it would fail like that. Honestly! What can we do?"

Ironhide paused dramatically. "Fix that fragging chair and get Ratchet's aft in it next Tuesday. I have a service appointment I don't relish keeping."

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe groaned.

**--FIN--**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: I hope everyone had a great holiday season! I certainly did, though it was extremely busy. I've barely had any time to sit down and read since November, let alone write. Just a short note about that pesky thing called real life: mine (read: the Minnesota hockey season) will be getting in the way here for the next couple of months, so expect my updates to be quite a bit slower than they have in the past. Rest assured, I'm still writing, but at a much less prolific pace.

Anyways, I know a couple of people have been waiting for the second chapter of this story, and again, I apologize for the simply egregious amount of time it's taken me to get it written. I need to start clearing out some of my backlogged projects before the bunnies swallow me whole and I figured this was a good place to start. As always, enjoy and if you're so inclined, a review would be lovely!

**Warnings**: No food or drink would probably be advisable.

**Disclaimer(s)**: Not mine. Don't sue. Also, please don't try the pranks. On paper, in execution and in shock/laugh value, they rocked, but the consequences? Not so fun.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Ironhide made the conscientious decision long ago not to trust Sunstreaker or Sideswipe any further than he could throw them. Never having to use the policy in the past, it was only due to recent events had he vowed to put that choice into practice because, by Primus, he was _not_ slipping. A mere two days had passed since what had become known around Diego Garcia as the "Chair of Doom" incident, and the seasoned bot was rightfully wary in the 'Vette twins' presence. But cautious or no, training still had to commence and Ironhide was still the best hand-to-hand and weapons combat teacher the Autobots had.

It just didn't mean 'Hide had to go easy on the sources of the biggest bruise his ego had ever suffered.

"That was passable, you two. It wasn't good, but it you'd survive," Ironhide grunted as he wiped his hands on a shammy, effectively scrubbing some dried energon from the space between his knuckles.

Sunny looked up from his seated position at the armory table and tried to crack a smile. His face painfully contorted once his bashed faceplates bent in the wrong direction. "Thanks, 'Hide. Glad to know it."

Sideswipe gave an identical grunt. "Yeah, 'Hide. Good training session. We needed that, you know. Keep us in shape for the 'Cons."

Pausing, Ironhide tilted his head and then nodded. He rose swiftly to his feet and exited the training area. "Good. I'll see you both tomorrow, then? Same time, same place. You both know the drill." The weapons specialist didn't bother to wait for a response, instead ambling his way out of the armory and back toward Ops.

As soon as the black mech was clear of the door, Sunny and Sides both exhaled, their postures going limp. The sounds of self-repair systems whirling to life filled the armory staging area. Both twins wound their arms around their midsections in pain and reached for the sterilizing wipes for the multitude of cuts and abrasions all over their chassis. Ironhide was ruthless and had given no quarter, but the 'Vette twins' pride demanded that it not be asked for.

"Oh, maan!" Sides groaned. "So uncool!"

"You knew this was going to happen, Sides," Sunstreaker said while dabbing at a particularly sensitive spot near the corner of his mouth.

Sideswipe shot his brother an irritated glare as he contemplated the best way to keep his optic supports from collapsing. "Yeah dude, I did, but it doesn't mean I had to like it."

"Should we do it?" Sunny asked, laying down prone on the floor, face down.

"Do what?" Sides whined.

"You know. What 'Hide said."

Sideswipe leaned back in his chair and put a hand over his face. He carefully cycled his vents. "Even if Ratchet tries to offline us, at least it'll get old Ironaft to stop thinking about new, creative ways to make us bleed."

Sunny lifted his head and hissed in pain. "So that's a 'yes', then?"

"_Definitely_ yes."

* * *

According to the Autobots' Chief Medical Officer, interplanetary politics were woefully overrated.

Since he had no assistant on Earth, Prime suggested the Hummer train Mikaela to be his second. But until he prepared the teen to the point of being able to run the medical wing on her own, Ratchet was stuck pulling double duty as both the Autobot CMO and medical liaison to NEST. The job of CMO he relished; he didn't become the Autobots' premier medic just because he got the whim up his tailpipe. Snarky and cranky as he may be, Ratchet truly embraced his duties and took it quite seriously. To be CMO, there were no diplomatic requirements, but rather only technical knowledge, sure hands and a steady processor used as the tools of the trade.

It was the second half of his duties on Earth that routinely tied the medic's processor in a knot. Ratchet was rapidly growing to despise the word "liaison" and he couldn't believe that Prime saw him fit to work with the humans to forge a medical alliance. Diplomacy was Optimus' job, after all, not his. He worked with his hands, not his words and never claimed to have anything remotely resembling proper beside manner.

Today, it appeared that every human within a mile radius of NEST was hell bent on playing twenty questions with the chief medic, and it took every iota of self-restrained Ratchet possessed to actively stop himself from "accidently" stepping on someone. The budgetary meeting in the morning with Galloway's resident bean counters did not start his day off well. The morons in suits nit picked over nearly every penny spent, assuming he could easily recount it on the basis that the CMO was a sentient alien robot from the planet Cybertron. As the day wore on, the sheer amount of stupidity within the human element of NEST's medical facilities did little to improve Ratchet's sour mood.

"Slagging pitiful excuse for a human! The next time Megatron wants to destroy his miserable planet, I think I'll just let him! The Bureau Bum thinks my spending is excessive? This country's debt is in the trillions!"

Epps and Lennox leaned up against the wall of NEST's main hanger, the former munching from a bag of Cheetos. Business hours on the base were drawing to a close, and the shifts were beginning their changeover. Will always felt that, as the human commander of NEST, he should observe the change before becoming a civilian for the evening. Epps was next to him because he was just Epps and enjoyed a ranting Autobot as much as the next guy.

As the blur of angry yellow Hummer stormed past them in his bipedal form, Lennox shouted, "That meeting with the accountants must have gone well, then?"

Ratchet only returned the Major's question with a withering glare and kept walking.

"You didn't kill anyone, right?" Epps piped in.

Ratchet halted in mid-stride, his momentum carrying him forward to the balls of his feet. Spinning in a quick 180-degree turn, the medic took two short steps back toward NEST's human element. Leaning down, Ratchet did his best to keep his voice level. "No, Major, it did not go well, but much to your disappointment Sergeant, I did not squish anyone. I was sorely tempted, however."

Will laughed. "Don't worry, Ratchet. We all feel that compulsion every once in a great while."

"Yeah, man. Like once a week!"

Lennox elbowed his Sergeant and rolled his eyes. "I'd better be off. Sarah and Annabelle are waiting for me."

The medic's faceplates softened at the mention of the Major's family. He truly liked Sarah and he adored Annabelle, though he'd deny it to his last cynical, snarky exhalation. "Give them my regards, Will."

"Of course." Lennox tilted his head in salute. "Go find a quiet part of NEST, or Ironhide's firing range and let off a little steam, Ratch. It'd do you good."

A deep, slightly accented gruff voice cut into the conversation. "Oh no, he most certainly will not. I don't allow the mentally unqualified to be on my range without supervision. 'S not safe."

Undeterred at both Ironhide's sudden appearance and pot shot to his processing power, Ratchet retorted, "Then that would disqualify the instructor. Piss off, 'Hide. Or did you forget about your service appointment in the morning?"

The Topkick began his transformation sequence, readying to take Will home to his family on the other side of the spacious base. "Nope. Didn't forget. I'll be there, bright and early."

Ratchet snorted. "I'll bet. If I have to drag your aft out of your berth tomorrow morning, your intakes will feel it for a week!"

Epps and Lennox were quite enjoying the show. Deciding he should break up the spat before it turned into anything besides that, Will said, "All right. Come on, 'Hide. Let's go. Ratchet, go get some rest and some high grade. You look like you could use it."

Ratchet bobbed his head in acknowledgement as Will waved a goodbye to him and Epps. As Ironhide's tail lights disappeared in the dirt of Diego Garcia, the medic cast his eyes downward. "Well Sergeant, there's a cube or three of high grade calling my name and I don't intent to wait any longer to consume it."

Epps made a shooing motion with his hands. "Don't let me stop you, man. That's bad karma to get in the way of a dude and his beer."

Trudging down the hall, Ratchet made his way back toward the sanctuary that was the medical wing. He was hoping to get a shower, a bit of energon, and few hours' recharge, though not necessarily in that order. He entered his code in the panel beside the massive blast door and waited for the hiss of the breaking seal. Ratchet stepped inside, not bothering with more than the emergency lighting in the room. Going over the high grade dispenser he kept stashed in the closet, the medic flipped it on and procured himself a large cube. Downing it in one swift gulp, he made another, polished it off, made a third and then put the machine away for the evening.

Ratchet dropped unceremoniously into the overstuffed chair he kept by his desk and idly picked through some errant paperwork laying on his desk. Sorting the various reports, he placed some in the file bin and the rest in a pile to be completed tomorrow. Leaning back in the chair and putting his yellow feet up on the desk, a content sigh escaped the Hummer's vents. His optics shuttered involuntarily. More often than not, the chair doubled in purpose as his recharge berth, and it appeared this day was no different. Before Ratchet could properly execute his override command, his recharge program dropped him into mechanical sleep.

On the side of the chair, the blue piping and giant NHRA logo glinted in the dim emergency lighting.

* * *

"Dude, be careful! He'll wake up if you're not!"

"Shut up, Sunny! I got this." Sideswipe waved a dismissive hand in his brother's direction as he slowly steered Wheeljack's Chair of Doom, complete with the Autobot medic, out from the loading docks situated in medbay. "Did you get the other part set up?"

"You bet. I wasn't taking any chances this would get fragged up. Then we'd have 'Hide _and_ Ratchet to pay, and that just wouldn't be cool," Sunstreaker replied.

Though they could be rash, impulsive, childish and downright disgusting at times, Sunny and Sides were good soldiers. They hadn't survived so long during a war that had taken so many without being a bit observant. So when ideas began to fail them earlier in the day, the two 'bots resorted to what they knew about the Autobot chief medic. Most specifically, they resorted to knowing he was a creature of habit, and that he positively despised political meetings.

That, and a little help from Lady Luck didn't hurt.

Sideswipe carefully maneuvered the chair down the ramps of the loading docks and out into the desert night, thankful that he and his twin repaired every facet of the chair, cameras and microphones included. They hoped Ratchet ingested enough engergon to keep him offline through the ride around the base, and that if he did happen to wake up, the twins could find a place to hide before being squished by an angry medic.

Sideswipe giggled. "This is like Grand Theft Auto. You know, the San Andreas one. Remember that mission where you get to sneak into that old man's house to steal some crates of weapons? This is just like that, only we're sneaking our medic around in a chair instead of sneaking out weapons!"

Sunny rolled his optics. "I knew I should have done the driving. Concentrate, bro!"

"No way, dude. You drove last time. If Ratchet is going to murder us, I want to at least be able to say I did more than just stand there and watch." Sides shook his head and cycled his vents. "All right. We're almost to the storage tanks."

The words "Organic Waste Storage 1" loomed through the view screen of the camera on the Chair of Doom. It truly was a pity the world couldn't observe the technological gem that was NEST. Optimus had insisted early in the planning phases that Diego Garcia be completely self-reliant in everything from electricity production to waste management, mainly because the giant leader felt there would be less human government interference that way. Always the diplomat, Prime told the humans the need to be environmentally conscious was at the forefront of his processor, though that was not the honest-to-Primus truth. In either case, that promise meant building a facility that was capable of recycling all the byproducts of the humans and their Cybertronian allies.

Sideswipe made good use of the rotating camera and eased the chair up the makeshift ramp the two constructed earlier that afternoon. He nudged his way across the support beams, set up to span the diameter of the deepest tank. Tank One, with it's dimensions of seventeen feet high and twenty-five feet in diameter was originally planned to be the only solid waste disposal tank on base, but the rapid growth of NEST in the two years since Diego Garcia's initial construction forced the government to expand the infrastructure as well. And after Skids and Mudflap discovered The Simpsons, the accompanying cherry bombs and somehow managed to clog up the plumbing with one of their stunts, having a back up became quite a good idea.

Making sure he was plump in the middle of the suspended boards over the open-top tank, Sideswipe spun the chair so Ratchet's feet dangled over the edge of the two beams holding the chair up. He engaged the parking brakes, because, in his mind, it truly would be a crime if the actual _chair_ took a dunk, and not just the medic.

"This is going to be awesome. Did you set up the other cameras?" Sunny asked.

"Oh yeah. If we're going to have our exhausts turned inside out, which is very likely I remind you, I at least want to remember why I did it," Sideswipe answered.

"Great. Let's go. We'll wake him up right before shift change. 0615," Sunny answered. "Now, hide all the fragging evidence."

"Done and done. Let's roll, bro."

* * *

"You two better have a goddamn good reason to drag me out here at 0600 on Friday morning, otherwise I will find a creative way to punish you," Lennox grumbled from his position in Sunstreaker's alt mode.

The speakers crackled to life and Epps' equally irritated voice rang through. "I'm with him, man. I swear if this isn't cool, I'll shove dog food up your mufflers so it chokes out your Catalytic converters."

"That's a little harsh, isn't Sergeant? You haven't even seen what we did," Sunny admonished through his radio.

"Yeah, dude. Have faith. You know us," Sides added.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Will mumbled under his breath. The quartet pulled up to the Autobot quarters, the humans exiting the alt modes of the Autobots so the latter beings could transform. Upon entering Sunny and Sides' shared space, Will saw a video feed, apparently of Diego Garica's environmental area. On top of Waste Tank One was…Lennox's mood went from annoyed to intrigued, finally settling on a little worried. "What the hell?"

"'Hide told us we had to find a way to distract Ratchet from his service appointment today as payment for the Chair of Doom thing, and we thought this was a pretty good plan," Sunny said.

Will stifled a laugh. "And _this_ was your idea?"

Epps couldn't hold it in any longer. "Oh man. This is gonna be so great. You both are so screwed, but hot damn will it be funny!"

* * *

Ratchet woke slowly, his systems still a little slugging from the rather rapid intake of high grade the night before. It wasn't as if he couldn't handle his drink, but that he wasn't used to drinking so much so fast. As a medic, he knew better, as the processing of foreign stimulants or depressants was specifically dependent on time. He checked his internal chronometer. 0600. He still had another forty minutes before he needed to be in the medical bay to prepare; Ironhide's appointment wasn't until 0730. Shutting his systems down to minimal power, he set to wake again at 0630.

Just as he was dozing off, a shrill voice screeched over his internal comm.

"Ratchet! Skids and Mudflap found some Cemtex! They're giving to Wheeljack to do some experiments!"

Ratchet's systems jolted on line, his CPU and processor both going to full power. He snapped his optics open and jumped out his chair, fully intending to hit the floor in mid-stride.

There was only one small problem. The medic's foot didn't find the floor when he jumped up in his haste to aid his fellow Autobots. Instead, Ratchet found himself falling. And falling. And landing in the most disgusting, vile and foul-smelling liquid sludge he'd ever seen. He threw his arms out to his sides to try to find something solid to grab to keep his head above…water. Instead, he caught only air, and good _Primus_? What the slag was that in his mouth?

Ratchet sank all the way into the tank, his head ducking below the surface as his knees bent to absorb the impact of his fall. His sensors, now on full alert, told him he was in the human's sewage waste tank, and judging by the height of the tank, he figured it was Tank One.

It was only years of training as a medic and his very strong conversion systems that kept Ratchet from spewing all over at the thought of what he was literally swimming in. Instead, he walked over to the side of the tank and hauled himself out, dripping various unsavory bits all over the desert floor. With the scowl plastered all over his faceplates, even Megatron may have run if he saw the thunderous expression of rage in the medic's optics.

Ratchet hoofed it in robot form into the Autobot hanger, leaving wet, nasty footprints in his wake. Thankfully, it was still early enough that most humans and Autobots weren't yet awake, but those who were stopped in their tracks, stunned. A few gasps and plenty more gags due to the putrid smell emanating from the medic could be heard as he passed. Ratchet ignored them, fully intent on reaching his target without interference.

Practically mashing in the override code (being the medic _did_ have its advantages), Ratchet just about kicked the door down. He stormed into the unsuspecting bot's quarters, still dripping all over the floor. From the berth, one black armored hand lifted up to scrub at a tired face.

"I still have time. Go 'way, Hatchet."

Ratchet's anger finally reached a boiling point. "IRONHIDE! I SWEAR TO PRIMUS IF THIS IS YOUR DOING, I WILL INSTALL YOUR CANNONS UP YOUR AFT BACKWARDS AND THEN PERSONALLY CONDUCT A QUALITY CONTROL TEST!"

Ironhide's olfactory sensors finally registered the putrid smell permeating his personal quarters. He sat up and cracked open one craggy optic. "What the frag happened to you? And get the pit out of quarters! You're a mess!"

Both Autobots turned their heads toward the door as Ironhide caught a flash of blue and red passing through the hallway. "Optimus! Get your aft in here _now_!"

From down the hall, four beings, two human and two Cybertronian tried their damndest to stifle their choking laughter.

* * *

**Note (2)**: God help me, there will be a third and final chapter to this story. It's fully outlined and being written now, and hopefully will be edited enough to be up by next week. I promise it won't take me the three months it's been in between chapters one and two, though. *hides in shame*


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes**: Gah! WTF? How did this happen? I've written a 12,000 word, plotted, chaptered crackfic. *facepalm* I really, really need a life. As with the last chapter, this one is based off something I did to an unfortunate roommate in college. I figured it was fitting as a "teaching experience" for everyone's favorite twins. So, this is it, I promise you. There will be no more of The Glories of eBay after this chapter. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: Mine? Nope. Don't sue. Also, this is another one of those, 'Don't try this at home' chapters. I did, and though the prank and end result were epically hilarious, the punishment was not. You have been warned.

**Chapter 3

* * *

**

Optimus laid his massive body back on his recharge berth with a content cycle of his vents. It had been quite a while since he could recall having the morning to himself, and Prime was really hoping for nothing more than to catch up on some reading he'd long been neglecting. Maggie had recently taken Optimus' lack of relaxation on as a person mission, insisting the giant leader didn't spend enough time taking care of himself. She was kind enough to send him Kindle versions of several books she thought he'd enjoy, mainly consisting of the classical Russian authors Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Pushkin and Chekov, all in the authors' original language. He certainly appreciated the effort, and he actually was enjoying the reading.

Halfway through Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn's _One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich_, Optimus heard the argument well before he saw it. He initially thought perhaps his comm system was malfunctioning, since the voices of Ironhide and Ratchet sounded tinny and echoed terribly. But he stopped short when he realized that particular system hadn't activated through his processor or CPU. Prime got up and poked his head out into the hallway to investigate, only to find Ratchet and Ironhide were, as per usual, verbally arguing at a decibel level completely inappropriate for 0600 in the morning.

Some days, it truly didn't pay to get involved and maybe one day, Optimus would learn not to stick his noseplates where they didn't belong. But before he could turn to go back to his quarters, Ratchet's angry voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Optimus, get your aft in here, _now_!"

Prime cycled his massive vents. After being nearly dragged through the door by the Topkick, the Autobot leader stood and casually observed his weapons specialist and medic. Ironhide, much like a grizzly bear, was cranky from being woken before his recharge cycle was complete, and Ratchet…perhaps a visual definition of his current state wasn't appropriate given the sheer mess he was.

Ironhide was the first to speak. "Permission to offline Sunstreaker and Sideswipe as slowly and as painfully as possible."

One yellow hand shoved Ironhide out of the way with enough force to knock the weapons specialist off balance. Ratchet shouldered his way in front of Ironhide to make his point heard. "No way, 'Hide. I get 'em first. Look at me!"

Ironhide crossed his arms over his chest, recoiling at Ratchet's touch. "Are you forgetting I took a ride on that fragging Chair of Doom first, or does that not count in your esteemed opinion?"

The medic fired right back, pushing one yellow finger into the Topkick's heavily armored chest plates. "You did not get dunked in the humans' waste disposal tank, bolts for a processor! That ride on the chair did you good."

Prime held up one large hand to stop the argument before it began anew. "Could you two just start at the beginning, please? What on Cybertron happened here? And what are you covered with, Ratchet?"

A low, animalistic growl escaped from the medic's vocalizer. "The Corvette twins happened, Prime."

Optimus shuttered his optics. "Ah. The Sunstreaker and Sideswipe variety, I assume?"

Ironhide and Ratchet nodded, both too angry to speak.

"And this has something to do with that chair of Wheeljack's, the one inspired by that human from the snow-covered state in the northern part of the United States?"

"Very astute," Ratchet confirmed sarcastically.

"Just tell me what happened please. I'd like very much to get on with my day." Prime paused, then added, "And also so Ratchet can go wash up." Optimus joints groaned, the large mech lowering himself into a sitting position on Ironhide's recharge berth. It was far too early in the morning to have to deal with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's antics, and mornings like the way this one was shaping up usually ended with a processor ache for the Autobot leader.

Ironhide and Ratchet took Optimus' sitting down as their cue. The two laid out, in fine detail, what had transpired during the last twenty-four hours. Ironhide rehashed his ride on the Chair of Doom, though he cleverly omitted the small detail that was his order to Sunny and Sides to find a way to make Ratchet the chair's next victim. What Optimus didn't know couldn't hurt him, and it certainly wouldn't bode well for Ironhide should anyone find that out. The weapons specialist did admit he'd gone harder on Sunny and Sides as payback, but figured Prime wouldn't mind too terribly.

Ratchet took over and proceeded to give the version of events to Prime from the medic's point of view, beginning the night previous. The Autobot leader arched an optic ridge at the planning the prank must have taken, though he said nothing in response. When Ratchet finally explained why he was covered in human waste, Optimus engaged his battle mask to keep the smug smile from becoming visible. As much as he respected and cared for his two senior officers, sometimes it was good for their respective egos to be taken down a peg or two. And although the pranks were crude and without mercy, Optimus silently admitted they were _good_.

Ratchet finished up his report, straightening to his full height in order to preserve what little dignity he had left. "So, I ask you, Prime. Permission for _me_ to offline Sunstreaker and Sideswipe in a matter as heinous as the slag I'm covered in."

Prime paused, retracting his battle mask. "Denied. For both of you."

Ratchet and Ironhide both gaped at their red and blue flamed leader, the Prime sitting ever so serenely on the weapons specialist's recharge berth. Ratchet's jaw fell open and his optics widened, too stunned to speak.

Ironhide was incensed. "You've got to be kidding me, Optimus! Look what they've done!" Motioning with his thumb, 'Hide continued. "Normally, I wouldn't care what those two did to our dear medic, but this is too far for even the likes of someone as cranky as him."

Ratchet answered with wrench-swinging forehand winner to Ironhide's shoulder.

Optimus cleared his vocalizer. "Are you two finished?"

Grumbling Cybertronian expletives under their breath, both Ratchet and Ironhide nodded.

Prime smiled slyly. "Good. Because I have a plan."

Ironhide and Ratchet looked at one another in confusion. It had been eons since they'd seen a mischievous look such as the one currently stuck all over Optimus' faceplates, and it meant he was accessing a part of his processor that hadn't been given such a workout in a few thousand years. It was only the arrival to Earth of the two sets of twins that had recently perpetuated the need for more creative ways to discipline his soldiers. Though he wasn't as good as Prowl, ingenuity in punishment was something at which Prime was quiet proficient.

"What do you have in mind, Optimus?" Ironhide asked. Before even hearing the plan, he already liked where it was headed.

Clearly, the idea the Prime had was brilliant, would cause no physical harm other than to the 'Vette twins' egos, and would be damned amusing to boot. The problem was going to lie in the execution, the requisitioning requiring some very creative wording. It would take a joint effort by the three senior 'bots, but given their recent pranks, Optimus figured he'd get Ironhide and Ratchet's full support.

"We all know how vain those two are," Prime began, standing up with his hands locked behind his back. He cycled his vents once again and paced a slow circle around 'Hide's quarters. "I have an idea, but I need to figure out how to justify a dozen pallets of super glue to the U.S. Government."

If Ratchet or Ironhide were surprised by the suggestion, they both did a good job of not showing it. Tilting his head, 'Hide chimed in, "We have an expense account. Why don't we use it for once?"

Ratchet smirked. "Ironhide, I knew there was a reason I've managed to keep your sorry aft on line for this long."

* * *

Optimus walked through the central command area of NEST, his long legs eating up the distance between the tarmac and the hanger. Nighttime was a nice time at Diego Garcia. Most humans were sleeping, and those that weren't were sequestered in a small room tucked deep in the operations hanger. It was a time that Prime liked to use to clear his processor by walking about the base. Dog watch's quietness was also a blessing, given the prank the Boss Bot was about to pull.

Out of the corner of his optic, he spied two dust trails in the distance. Giving a quick flick of his optic enhancers and activating the night vision, he was able to see that it was Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Perfect. The Autobot leader stood stock still, his silver hands planted lightly on his hips as he waited for the 'Vette twins to arrive.

Sunny and Sides transformed while they came to a screeching halt in front of the operations hanger. At the sight of their leader, both twins straightened up subconsciously. "Prime. What can we do for you?" Sunny asked.

Optimus' voice boomed over the twins' heads. "How was patrol? Do you have any news on Decepticon activity?"

"Nothing Earth shattering, Prime," Sides answered. "It's pretty much same slag, different day."

Optimus nodded and let out a quiet, "Hmm. Well, keep me apprised, please."

"Well will," Sunny assured.

"Oh, Sunstreaker? Sideswipe?" Prime said as he turned to make his way back to his office. Over his shoulder, he said, "I believe Ratchet has requested your presence in his medical bay upon your return."

Two sets of optics flicked toward the other twin. Though nervous in his CPU, Sides did his best to project a certain air of nonchalance. "Did he say what he needed? I mean, we have work to do and a report for Jazz."

"No he didn't, though he said he said it was an urgent matter. You know how Ratchet gets when you keep him waiting, so I'd suggest you go immediately." Optimus was halfway through his transformation sequence, mainly to hide the smile he knew would have otherwise been visible.

"You got it, Prime," Sunny responded.

The two 'Vette twins walked slowly down the hall like two men being marched to the gallows. Arriving too quickly at medbay, Sunny and Sides took in the green light above the door. Of course Ratchet couldn't have been busy as to give the twins an excuse to come back later. Before they could formulate a reason to turn and flee, the doors whooshed open and the twins felt the negative pressure of medbay pull air in from their backs.

"Sunstreaker. Sideswipe," Ratchet nodded, polishing one last wrench and setting it in its designated place.

"Ratchet," Sunny acknowledged, not completely successful in masking the slight quiver to his vocalizer.

The medic stopped and looked up from his work. "How long has it been since you two had a service?"

Sunny and Sides stopped dead in their tracks, the voice of the Autobot medic slicing into them like a plasma cutter. "Service? Uh, I thought we just had ours done."

Sideswipe added nervously, "Yeah. Wasn't it just a few Earth months ago?"

Ratchet shifted, one hand still on the berth in front of him. He checked his databanks achingly slowly, the medic relishing the obvious discomfort of the two mechs in front of him. "According to my records, you two are far, far overdue, and Prime has ordered me to catch up on all the housekeeping that has fallen by the wayside since we all started landing here on Earth. You two are up."

Sunny and Sides shuffled toward the medberth, both eyeing it as if the metal would suddenly sprout teeth and claws.

"You know, Ratchet, I'm good. I feel great, and there's nothing wrong," Sunny said. "Seriously. Healthy as can be."

Ratchet's face remained annoyingly blank. "I don't tell you how to do recon, so don't tell me how to be the medic. Get your afts up here, both of you."

The red and yellow 'Vettes cycled their vents as silently as they could. They both knew there was no point in arguing with Ratchet, especially since Sunny and Sides both valued their paint way too much. Arguing only meant a wrench to the head, and dinged parts to go with it.

The twins hauled themselves up onto separate berths, the medic coming over to run cursory scans and to plug in some instruments.

"Now, you two are going to need to be offline for this checkup. I'm going to administer a light sedative so you two don't feel any pain. Can't have you hurting too badly now, can I?" Ratchet asked, his voice oozing sarcasm. The Hummer touched a small probe, extended from each of his hands, to the neck area of each twin.

"No, wait! I can take…" Sunny tried to argue before the drugs began to take hold.

As the darkness nibbled at their respective subconscious, both Sunny and Sides couldn't help but think how much of a mistake it probably was to be unconscious with The Hatchet.

* * *

"How long will that sedative keep them out?" Ironhide walked through the door from Ratchet's office in medbay, the place the Topkick had been hiding since the 'Vette twins wandered into their "appointment".

"Oh, until tomorrow morning. I gave them enough to knock even Prime out," Ratchet answered.

"Good. I don't really want them waking up, especially when we still don't know what Optimus has planned." Ironhide moved around to lift Sideswipe as Ratchet did the same for Sunny.

"What the frag have these two been eating? They're as heavy as you, 'Hide." Ratchet grumbled as he lifted the dead weight of an unconscious Sunstreaker on to the anti-grav sleds so nicely provided by the U.S. government. Apparently, the sleds were a Sector Seven contribution, envisioned from some human entertainment called "Star Trek".

"Would you shut up and do your part? We have to get this done, and I don't really need the whole base knowing we're the ones behind this," Ironhide shot back, lifting Sideswipe easily on to a twin sled. "We're supposed to the responsible ones, remember?"

"The day you're responsible is the day I turn in my tools."

Ironhide rolled his optics, comming Optimus. :Prime? You ready?:

:The hanger is clear for you both. We have ten minutes.:

:Ratchet and I are on our way.:

Sneaking through the base proved to be easier than either Ratchet or Ironhide had anticipated. Apparently. Prime had done his part in clearing any unnecessary humans or Autobots from the most direct route from Medical to Ops. Arriving in the towering structure of Operations, Ironhide and Ratchet brought their sleds to a halt.

Optimus walked over to several large crates covered with tarps and pulled the camouflaging material back. He cracked the crates open and began pulling out five gallon buckets full of a clear, somewhat odiferous liquid. Prime grabbed two brushes and dipped the ends into one of the open buckets. Flipping it bristle end up, the Autobot leader held out the small instruments to his officers.

Ironhide looked at the paintbrush with confusion. "What am I supposed to do with that, Prime?"

"That, Ironhide," Prime started, pointing at the bucket, "Is what humans call Superglue. It's been modified to be relative to our weight and strength. I thought you two could figure out some ingenious use for it, and if I happened to be here, then I may consider lending you a helping hand. I _am _taller than you, after all."

The weapons specialist was still confused. "Yeah, and?"

Ratchet snorted in disgust, his glee over Prime's prank and his exasperation of Ironhide's thickheadness warring with his facial emotion. "Oh, for Primus' sake, 'Hide! You are dense!" The medic marched over to Sunstreaker, pulled him off the sled, and flipped the yellow 'Vette on his front. Grabbing a bucket and the paintbrush, the Hummer began to liberally applying the Superglue to the back of Sunny's leg. He grabbed another bucket when the first was empty, only making it to the knee joint of the unsuspecting 'bot.

Ironhide stared, earning a deep chuckle from his boss. Optimus leaned over and pointed to the label on the bucket and the inclined his blue optics up toward the ceiling. Ironhide's optics flared and widened in recognition.

"You're not suggesting…" The Topkick trailed off, incredulity mashed all over his faceplates. "We're gluing them to the ceiling?"

Prime gave a quick lift to his optic ridges but said nothing. Instead, he offered the paintbrush once again to his weapons specialist.

A genuine smile breaking over his face, 'Hide snatched the paintbrush and grabbed ten buckets. He hummed a song, woefully out of tune as he started to paint Sideswipe.

Five minutes late, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were covered in a liberal amount of Autobot strength Superglue, a triumphant and grinning Ratchet and Ironhide standing over them. Prime picked up the twins, one at a time, and pressed them up to the ceiling braces. He made sure to press each body part to the ceiling so the twins would be completely helpless, unable to move their legs, torsos or arms. Optimus made sure to hold them for the recommended time to allow the glue to set. When he was satisfied Sunny and Sides would stay in place, Prime released his hold.

The Autobot leader took a step back and admired his handiwork. There in front of them, Diego Garcia's resident Terror Twins hung innocently by their backs from ceiling braces of the Ops hanger.

"I think we can call this a job well done," Prime said proudly. "Let's store all this stuff and get some recharge. I think we all have earned it."

Ratchet shot a glance toward Ironhide. "Some more than others."

* * *

Sunny's systems came online slowly. That sedative Ratchet gave surely packed a punch. Before he onlined his optics, Sunny decided a full body stretch would feel great. Trying to move his arms and legs, he was reasonably disturbed when he discovered they wouldn't move. Panicking, the yellow 'Vette onlined his optics and nearly shrieked when he saw he was somehow suspended over the…was that Operations?

Sunny opened a comm channel to his brother, Sideswipe just waking up. Sides' identical reaction sent a jolt of fear through their bond as brothers.

"Sunny, what the frag is this?" Sides whispered. "And why are we stuck to the ceiling?" The humans had yet to make their way into the hanger, as shift change was still an hour away. A blessing and a curse, the 'Vette twins were thrilled no one was yet here to witness their prank superiority demise, but then again, there was no one to help them find a way to get down, either.

"The more important question is how do we get down from here?" Sunny answered.

Sideswipe shook his head, which considering all the glue, meant the range of motion was a few inches at best. "No, the bigger question is who did this."

"Right." Sunny sighed. "I guess we wait and kiss our dignity goodbye while we're at it."

* * *

"Why do you all insist on waking me up at the ass crack of dawn? You know us humans value our sleep!" Lennox complained for the third time in Ironhide's cab. Dawn was just beginning to break over the horizon as the Topkick transported a half-asleep Major to Diego Garica. "What is so goddamn important it couldn't wait another couple of hours before I had breakfast and a cup of coffee?"

"I would think you'd want to see this, Major. It'll be worth the disturbance to your recharge, I promise." Ironhide's somewhat scratchy voice cut through the speakers of his alt form.

Ironhide pulled up in front of Ops, opening his door so the Major could exit. He triggered his transformation sequence and stopped short of his human charge.

"Yeah, 'Hide. This is Ops. I've seen it a few times."

"Not like this, you haven't," Ironhide retorted.

"What?"

Pointing, Ironhide said, "Look up, Will."

Lennox's eyes followed his guardian's finger. When his brain registered what he was seeing, Will doubled over in laughter, his standing position only supported by Ironhide's toe. Will could barely believe what his eyes were seeing. Sunny and Sides were suspended from the ceiling, both wearing growls of annoyance and embarrassment. Lennox belatedly wondered if Cybertronians could blush. As the Major began to slowly recover from his laughing fit, Ratchet was rolling in with Sergeant Epps, the latter even more irritated than Will had been.

Epps hopped out of Ratchet's alt mode and stormed up to his commander. "Hey, man, this ain't--"

Will smacked his friend on the arm, still not trusting his voice to work properly.

Bobby stopped as he followed the same path with his eyes as Will had just a few minutes earlier. "Holy shit. Now that's some good pranking right there." Epps gave the 'Vette twins a little wave. "How you two doing up there?"

Ironhide and Ratchet leaned down to the humans' level. Ratchet, seeing Will's raised eyebrow, explained, "We just thought you two would enjoy this little show. There have been some unacceptable antics going around this base the last few weeks, and we thought Sunstreaker and Sideswipe needed a reminder who's in charge here."

"In other words, you two were pissed about taking a ride on the chair and being dunked in the waste tank," Epps chuckled. "That's good, dude. Ingenious."

"Though I won't confirm nor deny any part in this prank, thank you," Ironhide answered. "But, I have work to do, and I'm sure you do, too."

"Yep. We do. Have a good day, you two," Will added as Ironhide and Ratchet turned to go about their business.

Lennox and Epps staggered out of the Ops hanger, still laughing at Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's misfortune. Their punishment was certainly deserved; they'd managed to prank not one but two of the senior Autobots, and prank them in epic, _public_ fashion. Still, Will couldn't help but feel the smallest percentage of responsibility, since it was the chair Epps ordered off eBay that had started the whole mess.

Somehow reading his friend's thoughts, Epps looked over and said, "Hey, man. They did really bring that on themselves, you know? You don't mess with a dude that cold, especially the one that puts you back together. It was all good what they did to 'Hide, though you'd better not ever tell him I said that, but what they did to the medic? That's just wrong on a level there ain't even words for."

Will grunted in acknowledgement, the two piling into the non-Autobot Hummer to run across the base. "I won't deny it, Epps, but next time, can you pick a novelty item that won't result in shenanigans like this?"

Bobby smiled brightly. "I think Wheeljack could make a paperweight an interesting device. Dude's got mad skills." Sobering momentarily, he added, "But I'll keep that in mind, sir."

"See that you do, Sergeant." Exiting the vehicle, Will and Bobby parted ways for the day. Epps trotted off to visit the Minor Twins for their daily lesson on successful human integration, and Lennox turned and walked down the hall leading to the human and Cybertronian officers' personal work areas.

He was halfway down the hall when a thought slapped him in the face like a cold wave of water. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were glued to the ceiling. To the _ops_ building's ceiling. That particular structure was over forty feet high with a slightly peaked roof. There was no way anyone would be able to reach that high without help from an Autobot-sized step stool. Running a quick mental inventory of all the service equipment on the base, Will couldn't think of one non-sentient thing that would fit the bill of requirements. There were plenty of things that were tall enough, but there was nothing _strong_ enough to assist even Ratchet, one of the tallest 'bots, in securing the Terror Twins by their backs to the beams.

No, the only thing tall enough to glue two unsuspecting Autobots to the ceiling at Diego Garica was…

Optimus Prime.

Will stopped in the middle of the hallway and began to laugh. The Major had always thought that, behind the Autobot leader's smooth voice calming logic and gentle, guiding hand lay a mischievous but dormant fun processor. If the flag-rank officers Lennox encountered in his career were any indication, the Cybertronian higher ups were probably much of the same, though they had a few million years to learn to prank. Lowly humans only had a few dozen. And now Will finally had the proof to go along with his theory about Optimus.

On his way to his office, Lennox felt the telltale vibrations of Cybertronian footsteps approaching from behind his position. Judging by the distance between steps and the rumbling of his feet, he knew it was Prime. As the Autobot leader strode by, the Major locked optic to eye contact with the Prime. Optimus' gaze flicked down, and before he raised his optics back up, Will swore Optimus looked him in the eye and winked.

'_Secrets of command_,' the Major surmised, tucking the information away for use at another time.

Chuckling to himself, Lennox made his way through the door to his office and sat down at his desk. He began the arduous task of sorting through the K-2 sized mountain of paperwork precariously piled on his desk after the weekend. But, before he disturbed the paper and set off the impending avalanche, Will thought perhaps he should check eBay for any new or unique items.

**--FIN--

* * *

**

*raises her right hand* I do solemnly swear that, when I did the suspend-your-unsuspecting-roommate-from-the-ceiling bit, I did _**not**_ use superglue. Instead, I used duct tape. It was safer, made less mess, and did the least amount of damage. Not that I'm encouraging anyone to try this, honestly!


End file.
